"Xue Yan, you are a monster!"
The village chief pointed at Xue Yan with a trembling finger.
"You dare blame us for doing nothing? This is not our fault! Stop this massacre! Your grandmother was a great physician, and yet you dare slaughter all these people. You will die a horrific death—!"
He couldn't finish his sentence.
His head rolled across the blood-soaked ground.
Screams of horror and cries of despair echoed through the village.
Rivers of blood flowed across the earth, and the air itself had turned crimson.
A teenager of about seventeen stood atop mountains of corpses. His face was extraordinarily handsome—almost ethereal—yet splattered with blood. Madness and bloodlust filled his eyes, but beneath that madness lay an immeasurable sorrow. His deep crimson gaze trembled faintly. His straight, ink-black hair clung to his forehead, making him look like a true lunatic.
Earlier, he had gone to inspect the medicinal herbs he and his grandparents had painstakingly cultivated. He was halfway through harvesting when he heard screams. Thick black smoke rose into the sky.
He ran with all his strength, panic gripping his heart.
Please… no… no, no, this can't be happening! Grandma!
He screamed desperately in his mind as he rushed back to the village.
The scene that greeted him was hell itself.
The villagers were pushing his grandmother toward the bandits.
"Th-this is the divine doctor's wife! Please, let us go!" the village chief shouted.
Xue Yan's red eyes constricted.
Before he could move, a blade flashed—and his grandmother was cleaved in half.
A terrifying killing intent surged through his body.
With a single strike, he severed the bandit's head. His sanity shattered as he lunged forward, attacking the bandits like a mad beast.
Caught completely off guard, the men had no time to react.
They were slaughtered.
Xue Yan had grown up with his grandparents. His parents had died when he was still a baby.
"Yan'er, you must not reveal your true nature," an old man in his seventies once said, gently stroking the child's head.
"You must not be violent toward others. You should help people. Many will disappoint you, but you must endure. This old man has little left to give. I won't remain in this world much longer. You must marry someday and take care of your grandmother."
"Grandfather, why do you say you will leave?" the child asked seriously.
"People die and depart from this world," the old man replied softly.
"All you can do is remember them in your heart. When you grow up, we will become nothing more than blurred memories of your childhood. You may barely remember our faces—but you must remember what we meant to you."
He pressed a finger against the boy's chest, over his heart.
"If you harden this place and lose your humanity, you will lose everything you fought to protect."
Xue Yan gently grasped the old man's wrist and nodded.
"Don't worry, Grandfather. I'll become strong. I'll protect Grandma, and I'll cure you. I've read many of your medical books—I will definitely heal you."
Those memories flooded the teenager's mind as he laughed madly.
Only when rain began to fall—washing over his bloodstained face and hair—did Xue Yan finally move.
He had massacred the entire village.
He allowed no one to survive. No one escaped.
His small figure staggered toward the village entrance, utterly alone. Bloody footprints trailed behind him.
Hoofbeats suddenly echoed in the distance.
"H-hey, kid! Where are your parents? How did you escape?" a soldier shouted.
Xue Yan looked into the soldier's eyes and smiled.
"I barely escaped. Those men started killing each other and slaughtered the village. I'm the only one left."
The soldier narrowed his eyes.
The boy spoke calmly—as if he were describing the weather.
Unease flickered through the soldier's heart, but he dismissed it. Surely the child was simply relieved to be rescued after surviving such hell.
His expression softened.
"There's a doctor in the carriage back there. Go get checked. We'll search for survivors. You… stay there."
Xue Yan nodded and walked toward the carriage.
His dark red eyes were tranquil—as if the one who had massacred the village was someone else entirely.
Before entering, he knocked twice.
An elderly man emerged, leaning on a staff. He looked at the boy and nodded.
"Come in, child. Let me examine you."
Xue Yan entered without hesitation.
The carriage wasn't luxurious, but the scent of incense masked the strong smell of medicine.
"Sit here. Let me take a proper look at you," the doctor said, pointing to a small seat.
Xue Yan complied, allowing himself to be examined.
"Do you feel pain anywhere?" the doctor asked.
Xue Yan shook his head.
"I feel nothing," he replied flatly.
And it was true—his enemies hadn't even had time to react.
"Please, child, remove your clothes."
Xue Yan did as instructed, his expression unchanged.
Seeing the boy's calm face, the doctor sighed inwardly.
He must have gone through something terrible. He's traumatized.
After nearly half an hour, the doctor spoke.
"It seems you were very lucky, boy. Those bandits have slaughtered many villages… tsk, tsk. Such a tragedy. So many lives lost to those bastards."
Xue Yan raised an eyebrow.
"They attacked other villages too?"
"Yes," the old man sighed. "I didn't think they'd strike this one as well. How many people do they intend to kill?"
He clenched his teeth, then realized his mistake and quickly changed the subject.
"You appear unharmed. Still, I'll give you something to help you relax."
Xue Yan nodded.